


The Thief and the Companion

by Nayna (orphan_account)



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 04:27:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6180151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Nayna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's bound by honor, duty and self-sacrifice. She's bound by nothing. He's a Companion. She's a thief. Struggling with their inner demons, can both of them put the past aside and learn to love one another? Or will their worlds pull them apart?</p>
<p>Runs concurrently with my other work, Moonborn, from chapter 27 onwards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you for reading, first off. As stated in the summary, this story will run side by side with Moonborn, but you won't have to read one to understand the other as this story is focused purely on Vilkas and Evie, our delightful little thief, whom you will hear more from in the next chapter. I'm trying to challenge myself by getting out of Nayna's head and into other characters, because I want to grow as a writer and make all my characters fleshed out and not one-dimensional. There will be times where Nayna and Skjor factor into the story, obviously, Vilkas is a Companion afterall, however, they won't be the main focus. Just like Evie and Vilkas will make appearances in Moonborn as well. I hope you enjoy! And as always, please leave comments, kudos below, they're much appreciated!

Vilkas tossed and turned for hours. Masser and Secunda were both full and fat in the sky. The call of the blood beat through his heart. His bones and muscles ached and his brain itched with the force of an angry campfire. 

He kicked the blankets off his sweat slicked body, and stared up at the darkened ceiling, imagining the moons above. 

Vilkas rolled out of bed and thrust himself into a pair of trousers and boots. His agitation brimmed just under the surface. Even easy-going Farkas had told him to calm down that morning. Which of course only infuriated him more. He had nearly decked Farkas. It had been so many years since he'd even playfully fought his brother, aside from training.

He needed to get his frustration out on something. Or someone. He stomped out of his room, into the antechamber and then into the hall. Beyond the doors to the Harbingers room, there was the constant sound of Kodlak's quill scratching away at his journal. The whelps were all asleep in the whelp room. Aela was gone to Markarth for the month, taking care of some beasts nest. And Farkas was nowhere to be found. Probably in Ysolda's bed. Traitor. Nothing ever bothered Farkas. Not the way it bothered him.

A soft whimper and then a moan came from Skjor's room. Of course. When weren't those two fucking? Well, Nayna was as good as anyone. And her feathers were so easy to ruffle. He pounded on the door. Behind it he heard Nayna sigh and Skjor growl “Fuck off.”

He pounded on the door again. The response was a loud, angry grunt, and then Nayna's gentle murmur “You better see what he wants, love.”

Love, ugh. It was enough to make him sick. She used to call his brother that, before she left him hanging out to dry. 

Skjor's bare feet smacked on the stone and then scuffed on the rug. Vilkas heard the flapping of trousers, and the shifting of coverlets on sheets, as Nayna rolled over. The door flew open and a very red faced Skjor glared out at him.

“What? This better be good Vilkas.”

“Send out your woman. I need to speak with her.”

“It's midnight. What the fuck could you want with her right now? Fuck off, Vilkas.” Skjor snarled and he tried to shut the door, but Vilkas had already angled his foot into the frame. The heavy wooden door bounced off his foot and slammed into Skjor's shoulder.

He looked into Skjor's face and saw his own agitation mirrored back at him. So he hadn't transformed recently either. Interesting. 

“It's not your business. Now kindly get her.”

“No. Now kindly fuck off.” Skjor snapped with the same brittle tone.

Another sigh emitted from the room and the covers swished over the sheets. There was fumbling and the soft tread as Nayna came to the door. The sheet was wrapped tightly under her arms, over her rather ample breasts and pooling at her feet. She looked at him through heavily lidded eyes and raised her brows.

“What is it Vilkas?” Her tone was cool and quiet, but not unfriendly.

“Get dressed. We need to talk.”

“No--” Skjor started, but Nayna rested a hand on his bare chest.

“Give me a few minutes, I need to dress.”

“Fine. I'll be in the yard.”

She nodded and shut the door in his face. Skjor grumbled and Nayna shushed him.

Vilkas stormed back into his room to pull on a tunic and back into the yard. Luckily, Nayna was not one to tarry and a few short minutes after she came walking out, wearing a blue tunic, a pair of cloth trousers with her hair pulled back into a ponytail. 

“What is it?” She asked crossing her arms over her breasts as she leaned against one of the pillars.

“I have it on good authority that someone saw the three of you gallivanting the other night.”

“Are you serious? You woke me up for this? To yell at me? Not at Aela, not at Skjor, but me..”

“I can reason with you.” He clenched his teeth. But he didn't much want to reason.

“Not to mention, we just got back from Solitude. Two and a half weeks,” she said and brushed a piece of hair from her eyes. “Was that all?”

“What kind of hypocrite are you?”

She rolled her eyes upwards, as if she were staring at the heavens. “The hypocritical kind, I suppose.”

“Funny.”

“Who was this someone?”

“....Jon.”

She laughed. “Jon Battle-Born and his woman?”

“What? No, Jon said he was walking from the farmhouse, alone...What? What are you laughing about?”

“Oh, he wasn't alone.” She sighed. “Vilkas, look....I'll make sure we're more careful, but I'm not going to go against my nature. I've seen what it can do.”

She reached out and actually touched his elbow. Vilkas tried to withdraw, but she kept advancing. “I know you find it a curse. I truly can see why, Vil. This must be so hard for you, and I sympathize, I really do.”

Vilkas had nothing to say to that, instead he squared his jaw and looked over her shoulder, back to their home, Jorrvaskr. “I need to get away for a while.” He said, far more gruff than he meant, surprising even himself with that statement, but Nayna took no offense, only nodded. 

And then her face brightened under the moons. “Farkas told me once that you'd always dreamt of seeing High Hrothgar. I need to return something to the Greybeards and I could use a shield-sibling.”

“No Skjor?” Of course that would be the first thing he would blurt out.

“Kodlak is getting a little bit worse each day. It's Skjor who is holding everyone together as of late.” He saw the glint of disappointment in her eyes, along with a shimmer of pride and a swell of love. Now it was Vilkas reaching out to paw at her elbow.

“You're right. I don't know where the rest of us would be without him.” He said into the wind.

She shivered.

 

They set off early the next morning. Skjor accompanied them to the gates, helping Nayna onto her horse, tie her saddlebags, and straighten the horses saddle. She tolerated him babying her as she would have no one else, rolling her eyes a little. Vilkas watched as she leaned down and snagged Skjor's chin with one of her little hands, pressing her mouth to his.

“We shouldn't be too long. Three weeks at the most, my love,” she murmured.

“Three weeks too long, whelp,” Skjor grunted, pushing his forehead against hers.

Vilkas mounted his own horse. He was jealous. Not of Skjor. No, he did not desire Nayna in the slightest. But he desired what she and Skjor had. He couldn't bear it any longer and he cleared his throat. Both turned to look at him with equally amused expressions on their faces. 

“Can the two of you hurry it along?” 

One last, lingering kiss and Nayna righted herself in the saddle, a small, private smile for Skjor before she waved and dug her heels into the horse's sides. Vilkas nodded at Skjor, who grunted “Bring her back whole.”

Vilkas rolled his eyes and followed Nayna down the road for a mile. He started to lead Wulfgeir towards Riverwood, but Nayna was riding past the road, towards Eastmarch.

“Where are you going?” He called out to her and she turned Raye around.

“To High Hrothgar.”

“It's faster that way.”

Her already dark eyes seemed to turn black as she slid them down the road to Riverwood. Then they disappeared as she squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. “I'm sorry Vilkas, but I can't go that way.”

Vilkas heard the slightest quiver in her throat, heard the heart thumping in her bosom, heard the sound of her swallowing. Her skin was white, like snow, her lips as pale as Masser. He squashed his temper as best he could and sighed. “Why not?”

She looked up at him through inky lashes, almost wet. “Helgen.”

Vilkas had forgotten that she'd been a part of the disaster at Helgen. Nearly two years ago. He rarely saw her bothered by it, but his room was nearest to hers. On the rare occasion she wasn't in Skjor's room, he would hear her cry out in her sleep. One of the curses of the beastblood. If one listened closely, one heard far too much. It was the Circle's policy to pretend such going ons did not happen, to preserve their dignity. So Vilkas often ignored the sobs, the curses and the sounds of sex ringing through Jorrvaskr. 

He studied her soft, yet distant face. Nayna was pretty, in a Breton sort of way, but her smile was too crooked, her brow a little too thick, her face a little too round. She was a little too small for his liking, too breakable looking, even though she was far stronger than she seemed. There was all that, but she was also marked as the Alpha's mate, which turned his wolf away from her. She was a pack member, a shield-sibling and nothing more. Vilkas was just lonely and ached for companionship that his shield-siblings couldn't grant.

Nayna rubbed a hand over her face, in a very Skjor-like manner. Vilkas shook his head and gestured for her to continue on. She shot him a grateful, yet slanted smile. They passed the two towers, late evening. Vilkas inhaled deeply, but there was no scent nor sound of any of the normal bandits.

“I think we should stay here,” Nayna said.

“Aye.”

“I'm so glad Lydia and I cleared this shithole out. Seems like they haven't returned.”

“How long ago was that?”

Nayna stopped and tilted her head to the side. “A year? It was right before Farkas and I....”

Vilkas snorted. “Right before you broke his heart, you mean?”

“Broke his heart? Last I checked, Farkas changed women like he changed his underpants.”

Vilkas couldn't help it. Farkas was his brother, but it was too good an opportunity to miss. “So not very often then.”

Nayna busted out with a shriek of laughter that echoed across the canyon. Vilkas grinned at her. “Keep your voice down, woman. Don't want to attract all the rabble now.”

“Whatever,” Nayna laughed, lower in pitch as she secured Wulfgeir and Raye to a nearby tree. She and Vilkas untied their saddlebags and stepped into the musty, moldy tower.

“I'll take first watch,” she said.

“Alright.”

Nayna jogged up the stairs, the better to watch from the tower, while Vilkas flapped out his bedroll and lay down on the dusty floor. For once he was able to fall asleep without the wolf inside begging for release.

 

Vilkas woke to something brushing his cheek. “Not funny, Nayna.” He slapped her away and rolled onto his back. She was straddling him, an ankle on either side.

But it wasn't Nayna. The scent was entirely different and entirely enticing. Spiced wine, and juniper berries with a hint of musky leather. A woman. His eyes popped open. When they adjusted to the dark he saw standing atop him the most gorgeous woman he'd even laid eyes on. Her full, pouty lips formed a frown as her dark eyes widened in surprise.

“Shit,” she hissed and dropped his coin purse. Septims spilled all over the wooden floor and she scrambled to catch as many as she could. Vilkas sprang up and grabbed a slender ankle, but he was slow from sleep and she was able to wrest her foot away.

“Nayna!” He roared.

The woman cursed again, stuffing the coin purse and two loaves of bread into a bag as she danced from Vilkas's grip. Gods damned she was fast. And then she was fleeing on foot, crunching down the path. He cursed himself and Nayna too as he stuffed his feet into his boots, still feeling groggy. His clumsy fingers fumbled with the laces and the thumps of the woman's steps faded into the forestlands. 

He was going find that bitch. But first, he was going to kill Nayna. For his wolf smelled her own and the temptation to transform was too great to resist.


	2. Chapter 2

Evie was finally able to relax in Riften. For the past three days, she'd felt like the man had been tracking her, right on her heels. Or maybe she was just paranoid since Hrognar died. She dug into her beef stew, shrugging to herself.

Who would chase after 100 septims? Most people would cut their losses and let it go. And he didn't look like he needed it either, with his fancy inscribed armor, his clean hair, his new boots and all that shiny, shiny weaponry. 

Nocturnal, lady luck, had been on her side that night when the girl he'd been traveling with slipped out into the forests, leaving the man sleeping and utterly unguarded. She'd told herself she'd be in and out of there, right quick. Of course that didn't work. As usual she mucked it up. There was only so much luck could do for her. Especially when she got greedy and took the bread. But she'd been so hungry.

“Running a little light in the pockets, eh lass?” The smooth baritone of the man's voice rolled over her, sending tingles up and down her spine.

Evie glanced over her shoulder to see a gorgeous face attached to the gorgeous melodic voice. His grin was sincere and his eyes twinkled with a mirth that Evie hadn't felt in months. It dribbled over to her and she grinned back.

“Oh and how would you know, good sir?” She lilted back, tilting her head to the side by way of her hand.

“Wealth is my business, lass. It's all about sizing up your mark.”

“My mark? Oh, I know you must be Brynjolf,” Evie tossed her hair back and let out a sweet, yet sexy giggle. One she knew that always got the attention of men.

“Aye, then you know who I am, lass. But I don't know you.”

Evie gestured to the chair in front of her and he sat down graciously, scooting a bottle of Black-Briar mead her way before folding his hands atop the table.

“I'm Evie.”

“Just Evie?”

“That's right, just Evie.” She smiled and spooned some stew into her mouth, the better to avoid saying something stupid.

“You look like the kind of girl I'm looking for, lass.” He grinned, showing his perfectly white teeth. Interesting for a thief. Then again the second in command of the Thieves Guild most likely gained a cut. A big cut. She bet the men under him were a rag tag bunch. At least that's what the rumors said.

She snorted. “I sincerely hope you're speaking of a job and not.... a job.”

He chuckled. “I like the way you think, but no, I have better things to spend my coin on.” He leaned in closer. “Especially when I can get it for free.”

“What's in it for me?”

His jade eyes sparkled and danced, the candlelight dancing off them. Damn he was attractive. “An invitation.”

Evie smiled and raised her brows. “To?”

“Isn't it obvious, lass? The Guild.”

She bent forward and spoke in a whisper. “Last I heard, The Guild, wasn't doing so hot.”

Bynjolf leaned forward until their foreheads were almost touching. “So, come make it better, lass.”

Tempting. Sorely tempting. If only Hrognar could see her now. How he would laugh and laugh as she flirted with Brynjolf and how he'd try to rob him blind. She had an inkling that Brynjolf wouldn't be such an easy mark, as big and as sure as he was.

“What's this job, then?” She sat back in her chair, appraising Brynjolf, as she sopped up the remains of the stew with a crust of the loaf she'd stolen. He ran a large hand through his messy hair, creating a nice wind tousled look. Ultra sexy. 

He played with the ring on his thumb as he watched her, calculating her reaction. “I'm going to cause a distraction and you're going to steal Madesi's silver ring from his strongbox under his stand. Once you have it, I want you to place it in Brand-Shei's pocket without him noticing.”

“Why?” She popped the chunk of bread in her mouth, staring openly at him. And he had a beard too. Maybe she would just have to do this job.

“We've been contracted to make sure Brand-Shei remembers not to meddle in affairs that aren't his own. Now, since we're not the Dark Brotherhood, we're not going to kill him we're just going to make sure he sits in the prisons for a few days.”

“Hmm,” Evie nodded, looking over his shoulder. Lucky for them, no one was paying them any heed. She focused back on his lovely face. “Exactly how am I supposed to do this?”

He grinned at her. “Am I gonna have to hold your hand too, lass?”

She snorted, but a little thrill rushed inside of her. “Maybe later.”

His smile only widened. “Anyway, you're going to have to use a lockpick to pick the lock on the strongbox--”

“--fresh out of lockpicks.”

“I really am gonna have to hold your hand,” he groaned, but procured five picks and slid them across the smooth wooden table. Evie's grin widened and she stuffed them in her bag.

“When are we doing this errand?”

“Now would be good.”

He stood and she held up a finger as she crammed the rest of the bread and leftover stew in her mouth, washing it down with the bottle of Black-Briar mead he'd provided. He watched her, amused as she let out the tiniest of belches.

“Are you ready now, lass?”

“Yes! Can't rob the innocent without a full belly.”

Brynjolf placed a hand on the small of her back and led her outside to the marketplace. No one had touched her so since....She shook her head and studied the marketplace. Not big at all with only five or six stalls. Nothing like home. But Skyrim was her home now, wasn't it? Brynjolf drew her aside, leaning on the stone wall. 

“That one is Madesi, and that is Brand-Shei,” he murmured, nodding at each of the men in turn. Madesi was an Argonian, while Brand-Shei was a Dark-Elf. She bobbed her head up and down, looking between the two men.

His fingers curled around her waist and he guided her towards the stall. She flashed him a toothy smile. He stooped in and whispered. “Follow my lead, lass. Get pissed.”

Evie blinked at him in confusion, but was drowned out by the melodic sound of his voice. “Yes, lass, right this way! Just one drop of Falmerblood Elixir will make those freckles disappear in no time!”

She furrowed her brow while Brynjolf half nodded at her, half rose his brows as if to say, well, what are you doing? She shook her head. Get pissed!

The rest of the people milling about the market turned to look at them and Evie's face went red. She wrenched herself from his grasp and shook her head.

“How dare you! I do not have freckles!”

For a split second he looked confused and she was able to slip from his reaching hands and stomp away with everyone staring at her. Of course he picked on one of the things that bothered her most. She covered her nose with her hand as she made a loop around one of the houses, waiting until a crowd had gathered around him, before tip-toeing her way to the stall.

Picking locks was not her specialty. In fact, she was downright terrible at it and Brynjolf only slipped her five. Some thief she was. A soft puff of breath escaped her lips as she tried to open the back of the stall. Locked of course. She jimmied the first pick inside and cursed as it snapped in the lock. She rolled her eyes, looking back and forth, but no one noticed her. The second pick snapped as easily as the first did. The third clinked into place and she was able to slide the door open. Another glance around and she reached in for the strongbox. It was lighter than she expected, but just as hard to pick it open. 

Evie was in panic mode. She was down to the last one and she didn't know what she was going to do if it broke. Why was she even doing this in the first place? Hrognar hadn't wanted to join the thieves guild. Lockpicking had been more of his specialty. She'd been the lookout. 

She should just wash her hands of the whole endeavor and hop over to Solitude like they'd originally planned. Her tongue curled around the corner of her mouth as she jiggled the lock open. Relief flooded her and she snatched the ring, slipping it over her thumb. Two quick strokes and she'd placed the box inside the stall and closed the door. 

She stood slowly, eyes frantically darting side to side, but everyone was too mesmerized by Brynjolf and his sweet talk. 

“Yes, Falmerblood Elixir....Guaranteed to cure any ailment, ache or illness that plagues you.” He said, sweeping his arms wide.

Falmerblood Elixir....He'd probably never even seen a Falmer in his life. 

“Make love like a sabercat!”

Evie bit her lips between her teeth to keep from giggling. 

Brand-Shei was sitting on a pile of boxes with his elbow on his knee and his chin cradled in his hand, eyes misted over. Perfection. She was able to slide the ring into his pocket without him noticing, and she walked away just as Brynjolf concluded his speech. She sat her happy ass on the wall, crossing one leg over the other as the crowd dispersed. 

He ambled over to her and said loudly. “Lass, I'm sorry to have given offense. I wasn't meaning harm, I thought all ladies, like my sister, hated their freckles. Most men find them rather charming, including myself.”

Most of the crowd was gone and he nodded. “Good work. Love the shit eating grin, by the way, lass.”

Evie laughed. “I know when I've done a good job. Now, I believe you owe me some septims for the fine work I displayed.”

Brynjolf tugged her elbow and led her down a narrow alleyway. Behind them they heard the commotion of Madesi yelling at Brand-Shei and the guard rushing over. Brynjolf looked over his shoulder and grinned. She cleared her throat and held out her hand, making him chuckle as he counted out her coin. He dumped it in a small leather pouch and dangled it in her face, mirth dancing on his.

Aside from the meal and room she'd rented, now she had 180 septims. Not bad. Not enough to do anything, however, it was a start. She tucked the coinpurse inside of her bag and smiled up at him. “Now what?”

“You handled yourself rather well. I would like to extend an invitation to the guild, however, there is a bit of business I need to take care of first. Why don't I come get you from the Bee n Barb tomorrow morning and we'll go over all the formalities and ectera?”

“Sounds spiffy,” she chirped.

He grinned again and clapped her on the back. “Alright lass, tomorrow morning. Don't be late. I'm not a patient man.”

She saluted him. “No, sir!”

“You're a real smart-ass, Evie.”

“Thank you, Brynjolf.”

He was just as fine going as he was coming. She openly admired the way the fine clothes curved to his backside. Shit, she hadn't looked at a man like that since her own had died. Six months, was it? Was that enough mourning time? Her heart didn't know, but neither did her mind. Whatever, she'd worry about that if it ever actually happened.

She pushed away from the wall and started after him when a large hand clamped over her arm and yanked her around. And she was face to face with the man from three nights past.


End file.
